


Caustic Affections

by thegreatgayjatsby



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Aftercare, Begging, Biting, Breathplay, Bulges and Nooks, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Dom!Eridan, Dominance, Eridan ends up being a sweetie to Sol anyways though, Fighting, Gillplay, M/M, Pailing, Pailing without a pail, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Recuperacoon Sex, Rough Sex, Scratching, Sollux being used as a pail, Sub!Sollux, Unrecreational Sopor Slime, Violent Pailing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 03:54:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1536569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatgayjatsby/pseuds/thegreatgayjatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Eridan indulges his more feral instinct and pails Sollux in the recuperacoon without a single care as to if he's okay with being chewed on and torn to pieces and taken apart. <br/>(He is.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caustic Affections

**Author's Note:**

> heat fics are good fics but heat erisol fics are even better ヽ(*≧ω≦)ﾉ

You’re so angry that he’s curled around you and not fucking doing anything. His head is pillowed against your shoulder, four horns dangerously close to your fins and gills and eyes and you can feel with every breath he takes; your nook dampening, your bulge slipping further from its sheath as you ache for him.

To _hell_ with heat cycles.

You grind your teeth and wince as your mind responds with the idea of biting him. You do.

He yelps and grabs your horns the second he comes to, piss colored blood welling up beneath your mouth, spilling so you can taste the metallic flavor of his lifeforce. He wrenches you off of him, tearing his skin, and you snarl, golden fluid dripping from your mouth.His eyes, for once not hidden behind his stupid bi-colored glasses, dilate fiercely.

“Oh, _th’it_.” He breathes, lips pursing slightly in a way that makes you want to bite him again and then there you are, on top of him, teeth sinking through his supple flesh as you snap at him, chomping down ruthlessly and tugging.

He gasps in pain and hits you upside the head, palm flattening your earfin against your face although it wasn’t already pinned there in a carnal show of dominance. His claws dig into your scalp, burying in your hair and his thumb's nail pricking under your jaw. You go at him again, mouth open, teeth ready to shred his _useless_ fucking landweller flesh, and he hits you a second time.

He catches your horn and you slosh over into the sopor, going under. He pins you there, holding you under as you writhe. When you unseat him, it’s only because you manage to grind your unsheathed bulge up against the sopping folds of his nook. You briefly think about how you’re staining your ‘coon with genetic pre-material and blood so you’ll have to drain it and clean it and replace the slime but then you’re exploding from it, again able to breathe.

You concentrate on gasping through your nose and mouth, slapping at your gills to haphazardly clean the goo away from the delicate membranes, preventing a cross-draft so you don’t go belly up in the middle of pailing your kismesis. He’s bleeding worse than you, shoulder torn open deep enough that you can see his faintly yellow tinted muscle.

You want to fucking peel his skin off and make him scream. You pause for a second as he shakes you, the heel of his hand colliding with your jaw and stunning you. He takes the opportunity to scramble towards the other side of the ‘coon, trying to clamber out of it before you recover. He has the gal to shout at you when you grab him around the waist and pull him back in, force him under you and then up against the ‘coon wall so he’s suspended, legs around your waist like a fucking _ragdoll_.

And then you’re in him, your finely ridged bulge pressing past the lips of his nook, taking him until his ankles cross and he digs his heels into your lower back. Pitch overwhelms you as you thrust once, then twice, building speed and power as you take him apart.

He cries out in an irritating tone, his head lolling back and his fingers tightening around your neck. He’s smearing slime into your gills and it burns, it fucking boils under your skin so you thrust harder, fucking him into the side of the ‘coon and growling his name. It’s brutal and cruel to press him apart and do this to him, but you can’t stop.

Or so you think. You pull out and turn him, folding him over the lip of the ‘coon before shoving yourself right back in. He squeaks and kicks out at you, but the welcoming suctioning sensation of his nook pulling your bulge deeper tells you all you need to know.

You dig your claws into his hips, framing his pliant skin with crescents as you pound away, forcing him over the ‘coon and taking him until he can’t breathe. He’s gasping and begging for you to _stop_ , to let him get you to the couch, to the abolitionblock, _anything_ , but you don’t care. You’re close, you’re so _fucking_ close and his body is so soft around you and you’re losing it and then there’s violet staining the sopor and you recognize your voice shouting _minemineminemine_ over and over again until he understands.

He squirms uncomfortably as you come back to your senses, keeping yourself in him so the girth of your bulge plugs him up with your genetic fluid, the only stain having come from your nook. He spasms around you as you reach beneath your shaft to flick at his clit, making him shriek and impale himself by moving until he moans your name, repeating it instead of the stupid two letter nickname, just _EridanEridanEridanEridan_ over and over again.

You lift him, rubbing his hips, holding him so his sharp shoulder blades dig into your chest, and you carry him, still clenched tight around your limp bulge, to the trap, only then pulling out and listening to the gush of mud-colored material spilling from him with a splatter.

You set him on the floor, lean him up against the trap’s side and turn the water on, not too cool, not too hot, and slide him into it before heading across the block. You find your meager medical compilation and clean his shoulder wound out as he soaks in the warm water, eyes closed, and you slowly pet his hair.

He mewls softly in protest as you bandage him up with waterproof cloth, then murmur for him to hold his breath. Your heat is sated so you’re logical now, and you dunk him beneath the tap, scrubbing his scalp free of slime. You wash him off, letting him lounge on you, then lift him to his feet and prop him against the counter.

You kneel before him and use a damp washcloth to soothe his ravaged nook, cleaning the swollen lips and tucking his bulge back into its sheath where it belongs. You dry him off, then dress him in a pair of boxers and your shirt. He hums softly, voice rasping some sort of gratitude, and you hush him, laying him on the concupiscent couch.

Only when he’s settled do you wash yourself off and dry and clothe yourself in his shirt, wrapping yourself around him. You figure when you wake up next, it’ll be to him biting you right back. You smirk to yourself as you drift off, head nestled on his chest.


End file.
